


late nights in the middle of june

by deang1rl (pinkworm)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood and Injury, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Human Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, cas being the wife he is, dean has issues which i have projected onto him <3, he takes care of dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:27:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29732472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkworm/pseuds/deang1rl
Summary: With Cas by their side, the Winchesters are on their way to fight many more monsters. When one such hunt leads to them being hurt, Dean starts wondering if it's all worth it. He is tired, angry, frustrated and Cas comes to help. He tends to him in a way no one has ever done, and Dean isn't sure if he can keep his feelings for Cas at bay anymore.Cas washes Dean's back, like in Ari and Dante because that is a concept which is so personal to me. And other such stuff <3
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Kudos: 9





	late nights in the middle of june

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for clicking, hope you like it !

The bed had blood stains everywhere, but that was the least of their worries. Cas was holding his wounded shoulder and his face was painted with grimace. He looked up at Dean who was standing a little away; his eyes had a pleading look in them. Dean stumbled forward, ignoring his own injuries and inspected the gash on Cas’ shoulder. It ran deep, and it must be hurting like a bitch, if any of his own past experiences were any testimony. 

He rummaged in their bag for alcohol and their first aid kit which was frankly made of scraps. One would think that after so many years they would have realised how important it was to be prepared with such things, but deprivation had become a habit. Mostly they were just careless and too tired to fret about it anymore. 

He tore Cas’ shirt from the shoulder and poured the liquid as the man winced. Dean’s own breaths were shaky, his lower abdomen seemed to be made of fire, and he was sure his thigh was bleeding too. He moved quickly to Sam who was lying on the floor like an abandoned piece of clothing, curled up in himself in a contorted manner. 

He held his head and raised him a little so that he sat against the wall. 

“Fucking hell,” Sam said through labored breathing. 

Dean shushed him, and poured the alcohol over his arms and chest. He took out the bandages and ointments and started applying them to his injuries. 

It was a lot of work, and painful too, since his body was on the verge of collapsing, but he had to attend to both of them. He wrapped Sam up and turned to Cas who had slowly started applying the ointment to his own wounds and was unsuccessfully trying to wrap it all up.

“Okay Wonder Man, leave it,” Dean said gruffly, and took the bandages away. 

“It hurts so much,” Cas said softly. 

Dean grunted in response. 

He inspected Cas’s body for any more wounds and once satisfied with the inspection, he collapsed on the bed, the pain blinding him. 

He felt hands on him and he opened his eyes a little to see Cas and Sam tending to him. He wanted to say something but it really did hurt a lot. The last thing he remembered before blacking out was the sharpness of Smirnoff.

He woke up to sunlight pouring inside the dingy motel room. He felt disoriented as he got up and leaned against the headboard. His shoes and socks were off and so were his trousers. His left thigh was bandaged up tightly and there was an unfamiliar, new blanket thrown over him; the bedsheets were still the bloodied ones. He looked around, but he was alone in the room. 

All of it indicated that Cas and Sam had tended to him. He felt so weak, even thinking of it. He was supposed to take care of them, and here he was, being treated like a child because of how foolish he had been last night. 

The thought which immediately followed was that Cas had touched him. He wasn’t sure how to feel about it, seeing how ugly he looked and felt. The context wasn’t very pleasurable either. 

He got up and steadied himself. He could manage walking. He made his way to the bathroom and brushed his teeth and peed. He wondered if he could take a shower. He looked around for a plastic bag to cover the thigh wound but he was tired. 

This was so tiring. All of it. He sat on the bed and waited for the tears to come but they didn’t. He was so frustrated with everything.

The hunt had been dangerous. It had been vicious. The ghouls had come at them from all directions and they had made them fight with everything they had. In a rush, Dean forgot he wasn’t young anymore and overestimated his body’s capabilities. He tried to shield Cas, who was trying his best to handle the other ghoul, but the fight wasn’t about preservation, it was about thrusting a knife into the dead. Before he knew it, a ghoul had slashed the back of his thigh and he let out an animal like sound which made Cas turn around and receive a blow to his shoulder. Sam had tried to reach them and suffered blows to his abdomen too.

But they were good at their job, and eventually they were done with it all. 

Limping to the Impala, holding onto each other, they drove out of there recklessly in the night, all of them groaning and squirming. 

Dean looked around, and found a note on the table.

_ Dean, _

_ We are going out to get medicines and food. If you wake up while we’re gone, please eat the sandwich.  _

_ Cas.  _

He uncovered the plate and looked at the sad looking sandwich. That’s when his body remembered hunger was a thing too. He put the plate in his lap and took small bites. He was hungry, tired, dirty and all he wanted to do was get rid of those feelings. But he was so exhausted. He put the remaining sandwich back on the plate and threw it in the trash. 

He lied down again and looked at the sad looking ceiling. He could hear movement outside, a car, people, something whirring. He turned the ac to full blast and took his shirt off. If it were possible he would have peeled his skin off too. 

It happened slowly, starting as a searing pain at the back of his head and making it to the front of his head and translating into tears which made their way to his ear and beyond. He did not wipe them off, he did not make any attempt to do something about his thigh which had started to throb again. 

His eyes seemed to burn but he kept staring at the wall blankly, his mind betraying him, only hollowness travelling through him. 

He didn’t remember when he fell asleep or when the nightmare began.  _ Fire all around him, sounds which seemed to be coming from inside him but were omnipresent, his mother standing in the distance, her eyes bleeding, Sam with a sword thrust inside his chest, reaching out for him. He only remembered running and running and running. Only the distance was never covered and it seemed like he was suspended in one place. He looked around, feeling helpless and he opened his mouth to cry for help and he heard himself call out Cas’ name. _

“Dean,” he heard Cas.

“Dean!”

He opened his eyes and saw Cas looming over him, shaking him by his shoulder gently. 

“Are you okay?”

Dean nodded and tried to prop himself against the headboard. Cas helped him. 

“What time is it?” Dean croaked.

“It’s around nine pm,” Cas said and gave him a bottle of water.

“Sam?”

“In the other room, sleeping. Not enough beds, and the couch would only make it worse for anyone who was to sleep on it,” Cas replied. He sat down on the bed and looked at Dean.

Dean capped the bottle and threw it lazily next to him. He looked at Cas. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

“How are  _ you _ feeling?” Cas countered.

“I am fine, just, hurts like a bitch,” Dean said, trying to smile and failing miserably.

“Were you having a nightmare?”

Dean looked at Cas briefly before looking at his hands. He nodded. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” 

Dean shook his head. “Thanks for the sandwich,” he said instead.

Cas nodded, understanding. “Do you want some coffee?”

Dean made an affirmative noise and started to get out of the bed. Cas stood by his side waiting in case he needed assistance. In that moment, Dean hated how small and childlike he felt. Nobody was there to pick him up when he fell down playing and now here he was, a grown man, faltering, having someone waiting on him. All of it was so confusing.

He made his way to the bathroom. He knew he was stinking but how was he supposed to clean himself without affecting the wounds?

He looked at his bruised face in the mirror. His eye bags, the scars streaking his cheekbones and forehead. He touched his lip, feeling his own skin against skin. He thought of Cas, outside, wounded and bandaged and hurt, shuffling around the room, heating the store bought coffee. He thought of Sam, Sammy, sleeping, and his heart ached at the thought of the horror Sam had experienced. He wondered when was the last time the three of them had sat down in a nice place, and had a fulfilling meal which wasn’t or rushed or eaten out of necessity instead of choice. If he continued this train of thought, he was sure he would have to sit down on that grimy bathroom floor and hold himself.

He heard a knock on the door. 

“Dean?” Cas asked, gently.

“Yeah, be out in a sec,” he mumbled.

What a terrible friend he was. Cas was hurt. It was all so much tougher for him than Sam or him. He opened the door, laced with determination. He was never going to let Cas get hurt again. He was his friend, after all. He was sure he could shove his feelings deep down in his heart or whatever was left of it and make the world a better place for Cas, make him keep believing. 

He walked out and smiled faintly at Cas who was sitting at the table, food and coffee spread on the table. 

“I also have a few medicines,” Cas said. “You should take them after you have eaten.”

Dean settled down next to him, adjusting so that his abdomen didn’t hurt. “What about you?” he asked.

“I already took my pills,” he said. “Sam too.”

Dean nodded. He picked up the burger. 

“You like those, so I thought it would do you some good,” Cas said shyly.

Dean couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, appreciate it Cas.” He indicated at Cas’ burger, asking him to eat too.

They ate in companionable silence. 

“I am sorry,” he heard Cas, as he stood there staring out the window. The parking lot was desolated, but he could hear someone talking loudly on the phone nearby. He had just stepped out of the shower. 

“Why?” he turned. Cas was sitting on his bed, wearing a red t-shirt and grey joggers. His hair was damp and sticking to his forehead. 

Dean was suddenly aware of his own dirty, grimy body and he felt a sense of shame. He couldn’t even take care of his own body.

“If I were more efficient, we wouldn’t be injured this badly.”

Dean looked at Cas, sitting by the lamp whose warm golden light gave him a rounded, softer look. He looked so tired and defeated and Dean couldn’t help but walk over to him. He sat on his own bed, facing him. 

“That is totally bullshit. You can ask Sam too,” he said. “You weren't at fault. Such things happen all the time. You should have seen us when we were hunting this woman in white. I fell down a bridge in mud and shit.”

Cas granted him a small smile. “You were young then. I am so old, there shouldn't be any room for errors.”

“Why? Just because you are old doesn’t mean you are perfect. When you were an angel, even then you weren’t perfect in our human ways,” Dean said, hoping it was some sort of comfort.

“Yeah but,” Cas sighed and Dean could see frustration lining his face, “I had the excuse that I was an angel. Now I am human, Dean. I am one of you,” he broke off, looking sad. 

He didn’t know it would backfire the way it did right then. “And you are learning it, slowly. That’s how it is with humans, we learn by trial and error. All things.”

“Even violence?”

“Even violence. Some find ways which hurt the most, some find out it is not for them, some carry it in their hearts and never act on it until they are broken fully, it’s different for everyone. And you are good at hunting these bastards. Things like last night happen all the time, it’s part of the bargain,” he said.

Cas nodded. “I trust you the most Dean, so I will take your word for it.”

Dean nodded. He drank Cas in, his hunched shoulders, his worried face, his hands resting on the edge of the bed. His mind was working, he could see it in his face. He wanted to smoothen the creases on his forehead and sit in front of him and ask him to tell him what he was thinking about. He wanted to touch him. 

Someone knocked on the door and Cas got up to open it. Sam.

“You’re awake,” Dean said. “How you feeling Sammy?”

“Better than before,” he said. “Did he take his medicines?” he asked Cas.

“Yeah, about ten minutes ago,” Cas replied. 

“We also bought clothes, so feel free to shed the rags you are currently in,” Sam said.

Dean nodded. It felt unnerving seeing these two take care of him, instead of the other way round - the usual thing. It’s not like it was something bad, but he felt guilty somehow, 

Sam hovered around in the room for a while, talking about how they should rest for a while and not take on any more jobs. “I think the world will still be the same if we rest for a week or so.”

Cas nodded, and they looked at Dean. “Yeah, I guess. We have enough money?”

“If we only spend on necessities then we’ll be fine,” Sam said.

Dean nodded. 

Sam bid them goodbye, saying he was going to sleep. 

Dean hoisted his injured leg up and sat in a more comfortable position on his bed. Cas looked at him briefly before getting up to get out clothes from the plastic bags.

“We had to go to this thrift store and they had a lot of band t-shirts. I got the ones which you will like. Zeppelin, Van Halen, Metallica. There’s a Blondie one too but I’d like to keep that for myself if you don’t mind, it has the softest fabric of all,” he said, putting the clothes on Dean’s bed. Dean smiled at him, and Cas returned it, softly.

“Whatever suits you Cas,” he said.

Cas sat down at the foot of his bed, the pile of clothes between them. 

“How is your shoulder?” Dean asked. 

“It’s alright, as long as I don’t move it much,” he replied.

“I will change the bandage tomorrow,” Dean said.

“Thank you Dean.”

Dean nodded. The lamp washed the room with a blunt, golden light and it seemed like they were locked away from the entire world. 

“Thank you for, bandaging me up too buddy,” Dean said, hoping it somehow conveyed how grateful he was. “I would have done it if I was you know, able to.”

“We have to be there for each other. You help Sam and I, we help you, that's how it is.”

Yeah, that’s how it was. But a thorn pricked at Dean’s heart, reminded him he didn’t deserve help of any sort, that he was here to take care of Sam and Cas. and not the other way round. He could have been more alert, he could have been more prepared. But what could he do against time? He was going to get weaker as the months rolled on, he was going to become tired, more tired than his current state although he did not think that was a possibility. Was this how he was supposed to save the world?

His face must have reflected his inner workings because Cas had moved closer and was observing him. 

“What are you thinking Dean?” he asked.

“Nothing, just tired,” he said. He was surprised by how light and fake he sounded.

“No, you are thinking.”

“Yeah, I am thinking how I stink and I need a bath,” he laughed a short laugh, hoping it hid the residual melancholy.

“You do need a bath,” Cas said. “Well, here are your clothes, you can go right now.”

“Uh, yeah,” Dean remembered the reason why he had not showered.

“What’s the matter?”

“I can’t shower,” he said, looking away. He felt so small, so useless, so  _ weak.  _

Cas tilted his head. “Why?” he inquired.

“My thigh, I can’t wet it, and it hurts to move,” he said.

“Oh, yeah of course,” Cas said. He leaned forward and sniffed Dean. “But you really should get cleaned up Dean.”

“You don’t have to tell  _ me  _ that Cas,” he laughed, despite himself. 

“Let me help,” he declared.

“What?”

“Let me help.”

“No, it’s okay, I’ll manage somehow, in a while-”

“Please,” Cas said, so earnestly that Dean had to stop fumbling and look at him. His slumped shoulders made him look older than he was. 

“Why?” he asked, softly.

“I am of no use anymore,” Cas said. “Ever since I lost my grace, I have only been causing problems. I cannot heal you, I cannot fix you. If I was what I used to be, you wouldn’t be so hurt right now, Sam wouldn’t be injured. I could have fixed it all, instead I just went ahead and made you both get hurt.”

Dean could only stare at him for a moment. He wanted to laugh - they were all  _ so  _ fucked up. He was pretty sure Sam was in the adjacent room thinking similar things. He could hear a distant voice in his head, familiar and distasteful; John Winchester saying he failed. Ignoring it he tried to put his hand on Cas’ but it was so far away. So he just said his name softly. “Cas.”

Cas looked at him, his face painted with frustration.

“It is not your responsibility to fix me, or him. Humans hurt and heal all the time. It may not be the same for everyone, and yeah we are probably a little more fucked up than the rest but this is normal. Part of the job, yeah?”

Cas listened intently.

“And it is not your fault. Never has been. We fuck up on our own too. Sam is so tall he once hit his head in a tree accidentally, while trying to fight ghosts - doesn’t mean he did it on purpose or created trouble. And you can go and ask him about all the times I have made a mess, he’ll be more than glad to tell you about it all. It just happens,” Dean continued. He was always taken by surprise when he heard the gentleness his tongue held when it came to Cas. He did not understand why Cas wanted to take care of  _ him  _ but he did understand the need to care. He had his own reasons to care for Sam. And he had his own reasons and explanations regarding the urge to stand in between everything evil in the world and Cas, those were _ his  _ reasons and it was something personal - tucked away in his heart in a metal box, the key always ending up in his hand when Cas came in front of him and just existed. The key tickled his palm, urging him to open the box and spill out the contents. Jesus it hurt. 

Cas moved forward and placed his hand lightly over Dean’s and then squeezed it lightly. “If you honestly believe everything you said, then please let me help you in any way that I can.”

Fuck it. Dean was tired. And anywhere without Cas seemed to be a miserable place to be, and wasn’t everything just an attempt on his part to have Cas see him? And here he was, with him, willing to touch his disgusting, wounded, old body. 

He had no arguments, so he nodded lightly. He returned the pressure and held Cas’ hand briefly, before letting it sit limply on his thigh. The key had gone under his skin again, he was fine for now.

**Author's Note:**

> kudos, comments appreciated !!


End file.
